


Six Months of Elysian Peace

by KChan88



Series: She Was Bound to Love You [7]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Bisexual!Christine, F/F, French Kissing, Genderbending, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Lesbian!Raoul, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rule 63, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: What if Raoul de Chagny was a woman?A series featuring the major events (and a few things in-between) from the Phantom of the Opera, with a gender-bent, lesbian Raoul (and a bisexual Christine). ALW based, with Leroux elements.Interlude III: Raoul and Christine spend a storybook six months together in Erik's Absence.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Series: She Was Bound to Love You [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627735
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	Six Months of Elysian Peace

**Month One.**

Raoul reaches the opera house around noon with a bouquet of flowers in her hand—roses and lilies, two of Christine’s favorites. She’s going under the auspices of talking to the managers about the new chandelier—and discussing some of the damage the one that fell did to the stage—but she’s also here to take Christine to lunch. The opera is closed at least until they can fix the stage, which is set to take another three weeks.

It’s been three weeks since the incident, too, so Andre and Firmin, are, needless to say, nervous.

Raoul has agreed to supplement the salaries of the company until performances can start again, but she hopes people will come back, after everything that happened. Then again, Paris does love drama and they love the opera even more, so perhaps the return is inevitable.

She tends to her business first then sweeps backstage, greeting everyone she meets with a smile, though she does hear some whispers follow behind her. She’s not unused to whispers, but she doesn’t want anyone causing trouble for Christine. Artists, on the whole, are more supportive of relationships like theirs, but not all, probably.

The whispers stop abruptly when Meg Giry pops up as if out of nowhere at Raoul’s side, shooing some of the others backstage away, and leading her toward the ballet dormitories.

“Christine will be so pleased to see you,” Meg whispers, the only one aside from Raoul’s siblings who knows the truth about them after they agreed to confide in her at Christine’s request. “My mother’s been practicing us so hard I think our toes might fall off, and Christine always did like singing better than ballet, but there hasn’t been any word from… _him_ , thankfully.”

Meg’s voice lowers and so does Raoul’s stomach, but even if there hasn’t been any word from the opera ghost, Raoul knows Christine hasn’t been doing well here, as far as sleeping goes. She returned to the opera house a few days after the incident, and Raoul’s been worried about it ever since. But their courtship is new, and there would be questions if she stayed too long with Raoul, and it’s…complicated, and she wishes it wasn’t. Of course, if they do opt for a more long term situation, Christine will move in, but Raoul wants to know that’s what she wants, rather than something she’s doing out of fear.

Yesterday afternoon, however, she thinks she might have found a middle ground.

She forgets it all the moment she steps into the empty dormitories and Christine is there, not even giving Raoul a moment to speak before kissing her promptly. She pulls away, blushing and taking the flowers with a pleased little grin.

“Hello,” she finally says, looking over at Meg after a moment. “Sorry, Meg.”

Meg stands up on her tiptoes. “Don’t be silly Christine. I’m happy you’re so happy.” She winks at them. “I’ll keep everyone away for a bit, so you can talk.”

Raoul kisses Christine a little more thoroughly once they’re alone so perhaps talking isn’t exactly the right word for it. Christine comes away giggling, and Raoul comes away with a little bit of Christine’s lipstick.

“We should take Meg to lunch with us sometime this week,” Raoul says, grinning so hard her face hurts.

Good _god_ , she’s in love.

“Yes.” Christine fiddles with Raoul’s cravat, setting it right from the breeze outside. “She’s always been such a good friend, and now even more so. Today?”

“Tomorrow, I think,” Raoul replies. “Because today, I have something I’d like to show you.”

Christine quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Raoul smiles. “A surprise. It’s just about five-minute walk from here. Are you ready?”

“I am,” Christine says, though the words are half a laugh. “But you aren’t. You’ve got my lipstick on you. Here.” She pulls the handkerchief out of Raoul’s coat pocket, wiping the red stain gently away. “No more kissing me now, or we’ll just do it again.”

“You kissed me first,” Raoul argues. “Terribly forward of you.”

Christine shoves her, and both of them laugh and laugh and _laugh_ before heading out into the hallway. Raoul wants to take Christine’s arm, but there’s too many whispers in the opera house, too many eyes, so they walk side by side, and Raoul nearly goes mad when their pinky fingers brush against each other.

If being this in love makes her feel nearly drunk all the time, then she fears she might be a lost woman in a few months.

They walk out into the sunny Parisian day, the breeze still cold but less sharp than before. They do walk arm in arm now, not such a strange thing at all for two women to do, though Raoul does long to take Christine’s hand. They reach the building in question, and Raoul pulls out a key.

“Raoul, where are we going?”

“You’ll see, oh impatient one,” Raoul says. “You have to leave me some of my mystery.”

Christine snorts. “You are the least mysterious person on earth, and I quite like it that way, thank you.”

Raoul laughs, leading Christine by the hand and down the hallway now that no one is looking, their fingers linked loosely together. She unlocks another door, and steps inside a small, sunny little flat.

Christine looks around, then back at Raoul. “Raoul, what...”

Raoul gestures around at the little room. “This is for you, should you want it. I’ve rented it for the month, and if you like it, I’ll keep doing so for as long as you’d like. I...you haven’t been sleeping in the opera house, and I know asking you to move in with me right away might be too much and I don’t want to push you, I want to do this courtship correctly and I want you to feel safe and I...” she knows she’s rambling, but she can’t seem to stop. “You may say no, right now, and that is also all right. You don’t owe me anything because I’m spending this money, I chose to and it’s right by the opera house for rehearsals, and I can come any time you like if you feel unsafe, I...”

Christine puts one finger over Raoul’s lips, gently silencing her.

“You are the kindest person alive, Raoul de Chagny,” she whispers, looking a little overcome. “Thank you. I accept.”

Raoul takes Christine’s hand, putting a soft gentle kiss on her knuckles.

It’s only been a few weeks, but she’s gone.

Absolutely, entirely, gone. 

* * *

**Month Two.**

Winter turns to spring.

And with spring, comes the sunlight. The warmth. The flowers.

Christine’s missed it so.

Raoul takes her for a picnic in the Luxembourg Gardens, the two of them tucked away from other visitors beneath the trees. Christine’s been sleeping better since moving into the sunny little flat, which makes the rehearsal time spent in the opera house easier. They’re set to do a smaller re-opening next week, as the chandelier is still being built, but the stage is ready for use. With Carlotta back she doesn’t have a starring role, but she has a significant one, at least, which makes her happy. Happy to be singing rather than trapped in the ballet, which has always been Meg’s particular favorite, and not hers.

Or as happy as she can be, when she’s worried what Erik’s reaction will be.

Except, there hasn’t been a word from him. Not a peep. Not a single note.

A not insignificant part of her wonders if her voice will fail without him.

She hopes not.

She misses the tutor she thought she knew, sometimes, and it hurts. She does not miss the man who threatened and nearly crushed both her and Raoul with a chandelier.

She’s terrified of that man.

She focuses on Raoul, instead. Beautiful, animated, hopeful Raoul, who’s telling her a story.

“You should have seen Eloise’s face when I came up riding up not using side-saddle, and with my niece doing the same,” Raoul’s saying, telling a story about last summer’s venture to the family home in the countryside. “I thought she might die. She shouted at me for at least three-quarters of an hour. Philippe chided me a little but Juliette couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Raoul you troublemaker!” Christine exclaims. “You’re going to give your poor brother an illness, making him worry.”

“Nothing to worry over about me riding a horse like man does,” Raoul protests, grinning. “Eloise said to me _do you want to be a man, Raoul_? And I said I did not, but had she considered that whatever someone’s gender, they ought to be able to ride a horse in the most reasonable way, rather than a ridiculous one.”

Christine laughs, adjusting the parasol she has in her hand as the sun comes overhead. She reaches for one of the petit fours in the half-eaten box next to her and bites into it, the marzipan sweet on her tongue. Raoul is so kind to her, so sweet, and though Christine has trouble accepting these small ways in which Raoul spends money on her, even just things like buying nice pastries, she’s trying.

“You’ve got something on your lip there,” Raoul says, and there’s a little bit of a wicked smirk on her face. “Put your parasol up in front of us a moment?”

“Raoul,” Christine says. “What are you up to?”

That wicked grin grows brighter. “Trust me.”

Christine giggles and does as asked, the parasol hiding them from view as Raoul kisses her until they’re both nearly breathless, wiping away the remaining pastry in the process.

“Raoul de Chagny,” Christine protests, her face warming and warming and warming but she’s drunkenly delighted, even without a single sip of wine. “You are a menace.”

Raoul winks. “Would you prefer me to be less of one, mademoiselle?”

“Never,” Christine says, tapping the edge of Raoul’s nose. “Because then you would be less yourself.” She pauses, words brimming on the edge of her lips, words she’s said before, but she wants to say them again, she wants Raoul to hear her say them. She supposes she hasn’t said them since that night on the rooftop, and she wants to, away from her fear and away from the opera house, just the two of them here in the sunlight.

“Raoul?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you.”

That smile, that soft, genuine, heartfelt smile replaces the teasing look on Raoul’s face, and she reaches forward very briefly, squeezing just the tips of Christine’s fingers in case anyone is watching.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

**Month Three.**

The stars are out when they go walking.

Raoul’s taking Christine home to the little flat after a late-night rehearsal at the opera for a smaller scale production they’re putting on, to start with. The stage is repaired, but the chandelier and some of the seats it destroyed are not entirely fixed. Still, the opera needs to sell tickets to make money—and stay relevant, in the hustle and bustle of Paris—and so, as they say, the show must go on.

There’s been no word from the ghost. No letter. No whisper, even as each and every person in the opera house thinks, silently, of Buquet hanging from the ceiling every time they set foot inside. They think of the crash of the chandelier. Raoul thinks of that letter written in blood red ink. She thinks of Christine’s tears on the rooftop.

For now, she vows not to think of any of it. Not when there’s moonlight in Christine’s hair. Not when their hands are intertwined as they walk down the dark, deserted street with starlight spilling down on them, and possibly only them, the rest of Paris a dark and strangely quiet mystery, like something holy might be in the air. Something secret.

“You sounded lovely, tonight,” Raoul says, holding Christine’s hand a little tighter. “Your voice is astonishing, but it’s something about the energy you put into your singing, it’s so…well I feel no one else could quite replicate it.”

Christine grins, putting a kiss on Raoul’s cheek as they reach the building. “You’re very deeply biased, my love.”

“Nonsense,” Raoul protests, the sound of Christine’s keys jangling in the quiet. “I fell in love with you for many reasons, and none of them blind.”

Christine smiles at her in the starlight, and something… _changes_ between them or becomes…more? Raoul isn’t sure exactly what she means, only that she feels it. They step inside the building and go up one flight of stairs to the flat, lighting a few candles once they’re inside. Raoul’s mostly been here in the daylight hours aside from walking Christine home at night, and it’s odd not to see the sun coming in through the large window. She rented it specifically for that reason, but night must come, she supposes.

Christine turns toward her when she’s done lighting the last candle, the flames lending a golden sheen to her chestnut hair. She leans her back against the wall, a sly smirk on her lips that summons Raoul forward, no longer shy. Raoul slips an arm around Christine’s waist and they kiss for a rather long time, the two of them safe and hidden away from the world in this little flat. Away from the opera house. Away from their fears. Perhaps in here, if they could just stay _here_ , there might be a storybook ending for the two of them after all. Raoul can almost grasp it, and when Christine laughs as they come apart, she swears she grabs hold of it, that ending. She feels it between her fingers.

“Would you like me to stay a while?” Raoul asks, and something’s in her throat, she swears there must be.

“Yes,” Christine says with a mixture of shyness and eagerness in her voice and…

Raoul takes Christine’s hand gently, carefully, and they sit down on the edge of the little bed in the center of the room. Raoul kisses Christine again, gentle as that first one on the roof until it turns passionate and a little desperate, Christine’s fingers tangled in Raoul’s hair and mussing the braid. Raoul’s coat ends up on the floor. Christine’s lipstick smears. Both their clothes are wrinkled even further as they move back onto the bed, pressed close together side by side until they both pull back, breathless.

Raoul meets Christine’s eyes, and there’s a _look_ in them. A look she thinks she can interpret, but she wants to be sure. Every step of the way, she wants to be sure.

“Do you want…”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Christine smiles again, and it drives Raoul mad. “I’m positive, Raoul. I just…”

Raoul tilts her head. “What, darling? If you’re frightened we don’t…”

Christine puts a finger over Raoul’s lips. “No, it’s not that. I just…I feel so safe with you, I know this won’t be any different. If you’re ready, so am I.”

Raoul kisses Christine again in answer. The stars twinkle outside, silver and sparkling in the sacramental quiet.

Neither of them thinks of an opera ghost for quite some time. 

* * *

**Month Four.**

“Another!” Philippe calls out cheerily, and it makes Christine happy to hear it. She and Raoul are putting on a little concert for Philippe in the de Chagny sitting room.

She’s never entirely sure how the eldest de Chagny feels about her, is never sure if he thinks she’s leading his sister on with all the stories about a disembodied voice being her tutor, but tonight he’s smiling and laughing with them, glad of their company.

“They should just put the two of you on to play until the chandelier is repaired,” Philippe says. “Delightful.”

Raoul shakes her head, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not nearly talented enough to play in front of an audience, Philippe. Christine is, of course.”

“Nonsense, you’re excellent!” Christine exclaims, kissing Raoul on the cheek and making her blush. This is the only place aside from her little flat where they can show their true affection, and Christine’s grateful for it, strange as it feels, sometimes, to be surrounded by so much wealth. She so often longs to take Raoul’s hand in the street instead of just her arm, so the freedom here with Philippe is lovely.

There’s been no word from Erik.

Some days now, she convinces herself that maybe he’s gone, maybe he’s found some happiness somewhere else. Singing inevitably brings him to mind. The fascination. The terror. The anguish when she realized the truth.

Maybe one day, she’ll be able to separate her voice from the man who fashioned it.

“I’m all right,” Raoul admits. “But Christine’s had this beautiful voice since we were children, so she’s really the star.”

Phillipe laughs, taking a long swig of his red wine and gesturing at them to play more. Christine picks an old Swedish song her father taught her that Raoul knows, and that shared childhood that’s cemented so much bubbles to life again, her father’s spirit here in the room with the three of them.

Raoul’s bow goes across the strings of the violin, and for the first time in months when Christine sings, she thinks of her future, and nothing else. 

* * *

**Month Five.**

Raoul wakes up just as the sun starts peeking in through the window of Christine’s little flat.

She shifts, her nightdress twisted around her legs, but the movement doesn’t wake Christine, who still sleeps soundly beside her. Raoul turns on her side, studying Christine in the pale morning light—the half wild brown curls, the pink cheeks, the way she looks at peace in her sleep.

God, Raoul wants to marry her.

The realization, the thought, strikes her before she even has a chance to think it through all the way, but she knows the truth of it regardless. She’s certainly thought of it many times in the past few months, but she supposes part of her worried Christine might step away, might feel the relationship wasn’t what she wanted, and Raoul contented herself with being with Christine like this for however long she could, and then be content with having Christine in her life in any way.

But Christine hasn’t walked away. Christine hasn’t left. Christine is still here, and Raoul’s never been so happy, not in her entire life.

She wants to walk to the front of a church and say _I do_ , she wants to kiss Christine in front of a crowd and say _this is my wife_ , and it breaks her heart that she can’t.

She doesn’t need permission from God, not from anyone at all, to love who she does.

She hates having to keep it secret.

She hates the world being the way it is, and she wishes she could change it, right now. She would, if she could.

She is going to ask Christine to marry her, in a manner of speaking. To come live with her, to swear vows even if only to one another. It’s only been a few months, but she knows. She’s known since that day she rescued a red scarf from the surf, the sun shining down on the water.

She runs a hand down Christine’s cheek, easing her slowly awake.

“Darling?” Raoul says softly. “I was going to find breakfast, all right? I wanted to let you know so you didn’t wake up and find me gone.”

Christine’s eyes flutter open, and she smiles with a sleepy air, sitting up just a little to get a good morning kiss.

“Are you all right?” Christine asks faintly, falling back against the pillows. “You seem sad.”

“No.” Raoul tugs one of Christine’s hands toward her, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “The opposite. I’m terribly happy.”

“So am I,” Christine replies, her eyes falling shut again. “You’ll be back soon?”

“Very,” Raoul assures her. “Sleep a little longer. You’ve got that rehearsal tonight.”

Christine nods against her pillow, and a few minutes later Raoul’s out the door, hoping she might find something other than just a café open at this early hour.

A jeweler’s shop. 

* * *

**Month Six.**

“Raoul!”

Raoul hears her name shouted as soon as she steps inside the front door, which she has admittedly not stepped through in…a few days.

“Philippe,” she says, the package from the jeweler’s still in hand. “Why are you shouting?”

“I’m not…” Philippe stumbles, realizing his voice is raised. “I haven’t seen you for four days, Raoul.”

Raoul keeps going into the main sitting room, breezing past her brother. “I sent a note, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Philippe takes Raoul’s shoulder, gently, but firmly, turning her around where she stands before she can sit down. “Raoul,” he repeats, less angrily than before. “You haven’t been home for four days. This isn’t the first time. You’re either at the opera house or Christine’s flat, and you’ve missed at least two evening engagements with me. People, friends, are starting to wonder where you are.”

Raoul slips out from under her brother’s grasp, going to sit down on the settee and avoiding his gaze. “You mean people are gossiping about me, and you don’t like it.”

“Raoul…” Philippe sits down next to her. “You know I would not allow anyone to say a word to you about your choice of a companion…”

“Philippe…”

“But that doesn’t mean you can abandon your life, your obligations.” Philippe cuts her off. “You are doing very well with the opera house responsibilities, but there are places you’re expected, people we must see, and I need you to stop avoiding all of them. We are who we are, and people expect things of us.”

Raoul stares her brother down, vulnerability snaking through her veins. “Are you going to tell me you think I shouldn’t see Christine anymore? That’s she’s not suitable? No woman is suitable for another woman, Philippe, not to the rest of the world, so I’d rather not hear any class commentary from you on the matter. I love her.”

Philippe laughs.

Raoul is baffled.

“Why are you laughing at me, I thought we were arguing?”

“Raoul, you stubborn, passionate fool.”

“Philippe.”

“I’m saying the opposite of what you think I’m saying,” Philippe explains. “I’m saying that you should explore the idea of Christine moving in here in the near future and doing some kind of…commitment. Otherwise you’ll just be stumbling out of a flat every morning and it won’t do.”

Raoul softens at this, despite the gentle chiding. “You…you’d be all right with that?”

Philippe sighs, and there is some concern in his voice. “The goings on at the opera a few months ago worry me, and I’m not convinced that ghost is gone. I also feared Christine flighty. But she’s made you so deeply happy if not…a touch irresponsible.” Philippe taps the side of Raoul’s face with affection. “So if you trust her, if you love her, then I am hoping we can bring her into our family.”

Raoul smiles, and pulls a box out of the package still in her hands. “I’m glad to hear you say that, because I…I’ve been thinking of asking her to…commit, for the past two weeks. I had this made.”

She flips open the box, revealing a golden necklace with an elegant, diamond encrusted rose in the center. When she opens the locket, there’s a tiny miniature of the sea inside.

“I had the miniature added,” Raoul says, finding herself near tears. “I know a ring might draw too many questions, but a necklace…a necklace might do.”

Philippe blinks, and he might be crying a little too, and whatever their tiffs sometimes, Raoul’s grateful to have a sibling who cares so much for her happiness.

Then, Raoul asks the question to which she most fears the answer.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“Yes,” Philippe whispers, grasping Raoul’s hand. “I absolutely do.”


End file.
